


That's Not How Holes Work

by hazyascent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Pack, Everyone Is Alive, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Derek Hale, Sex Tapes, Title of Your Sex Tape, season 3 timeframe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18709966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazyascent/pseuds/hazyascent
Summary: There are a lot of ways to court a moderately antisocial werewolf.  Leave it to Stiles to resort to side jokes about sex tapes starring himself and Derek.  Not together, of course …





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi readers! In the middle of working on a couple other stories more comprehensive than this one, I was inspired to take a detour into this little short. The underlying concept is from Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Jake Peralta’s (Andy Samberg’s) running “title of my/your sex tape” gag. It’s a cousin of the “that’s what he/she said” punchline. The name of the story is one of my favorite “title of my/your sex tape” references on Brooklyn Nine-Nine. If you haven’t watched it and like fun comedies with wacky characters and friendships, check it out!
> 
> The joke itself is popular enough that I wasn’t sure if it’s already been done a lot in the Teen Wolf fandom. From a rudimentary search on ao3, it doesn’t look like the case, but if there are other fics out there that have used the same inspiration, I assure you it’s coincidental and I would not copy someone else’s idea/application knowingly. 
> 
> Also, since this was meant to be a happy story and is not tied to canon storylines, I kept the context pretty light. The Stiles/Derek interaction is more along the lines of the season 3 vibe, but without the dark points of season 3. Everyone in the pack is alive, Derek wasn’t forced to kill anyone, and Stiles wasn’t possessed by the nogitsune - all that smooth jazz.
> 
> I have written about 90% of this so far, so it 100% will be completed and I will be able to post on a regular basis (but I haven’t decided on frequency/timing yet). I’m trying a different chapter length in the 3k-4k word range. I’ve gone to 10k+ before since I felt like a lot had to happen in each chapter and there had to be a sense of progression, given the darker subject matter. But here, I think shorter will work just fine.
> 
> It was fun to write this after the super angst-storm of my previous story (“Your Vision Borrows Mine”). If you’re interested in giving that one a try, too, please go for it, but heed the tags and warnings!
> 
> I hope you enjoy “That’s Not How Holes Work” and thank you for reading and leaving any feedback! (But let’s be real, these fictional guys definitely know how they work and whom they want to work them …)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Posted 5/4/19]

For Derek, it’s almost like any other day. He never has “a case of the Mondays,” as he’s heard Stiles mention several times before. That’s for people with a Sunday hangover at the start of a new workweek or schoolweek.

Derek’s life doesn’t run on weekly cycles and he’s pretty much fine with that. His dad used to like the routine, but Derek grew up rather indifferent, with the exception of the big Sunday night family dinners. Those were a treasured, grounding force.

He hasn’t had them for a long time, but he’s managed to adjust in his own way. Even though his family is gone, Derek has found an anchor, one that’s more personal to him than the changing of the days.

It’s only the second week of junior year, but Derek immediately felt the shift once everyone went back to school. Over summer break, his pack’s schedule had been more like his - random and scattered, with viable options like staying up all night, sleeping in, and easily seeing each other, no matter the time of day.

Sometimes he’s very cognizant of how much older he is than everyone else, but he doesn’t care and neither do they. He does miss grabbing lunch with Boyd and Isaac, though. And Erica lounging around the loft and Stiles coming over at any hour for anything between no real reason and ten good ones.

So Derek has no problem with it when Erica asks for a ride after cross-country practice one day. It’s not her thing, but Boyd does it. Erica usually waits for him, theoretically getting her homework out of the way in the library but actually intimidating younger students for shits and giggles.

The parking lot is fairly empty, peppered with cars here and there. Derek’s gaze catches sight of Stiles’ blue Jeep, which stands out without even trying. He’s about to pull into a space close to the front, but once he sees the cluster of people loitering around the front doors, he slides up to the curb instead.

“Hey, handsome,” Erica calls out.

She and Boyd break out with the rest of the group falling in step behind them. Derek isn’t surprised to see Isaac, Scott, and Stiles since they run cross-country, too. (“Even running badly counts as running,” Stiles had insisted to him once.)

Boyd climbs into the backseat of the Camaro, letting Erica claim shotgun. “Isaac, you coming?” Derek asks.

“Oh, no, I’m okay. I have plans already. I’m good on my own, thanks.”

Derek doesn’t probe for details. As a private person, it’s really simple for him to assume other people want their privacy, too.

Stiles ambles over to the driver’s side, leaning down to peer into Derek’s open window. “I thought you only picked up Erica to rub in our faces how much cooler and better you are than us, with your big bad car and your shit-eating grin.”

“Oh, Stiles,” Erica says, her blond curls swishing through the air as she shakes her head in the passenger seat. “Try to keep up. That was so six months ago. He wants different things now.”

“Well, I’m gonna celebrate my super awesome workout by going home for some online gaming.” Stiles looks around inside the car and out. “Anyone want to join? Anyone?”

Naturally, there aren’t any takers. “Okay, fine then. Solo endeavor - no one wants to play with me,” Stiles says, gracing them with a hugely put-upon sigh before bouncing back. “Heyyyy, check it out. Could be the title of my sex tape.”

Derek exhales sharply through his nose. “Clever.”

“Really? I feel like your sex tape would be called something like ‘Fun Times with Moles and Holes,’” Isaac pipes up.

Scott bursts out laughing, and even Boyd and Derek can’t help themselves. Stiles points at Isaac with respect. “Also a contender. Good one. And you better get out of here, for your ‘other plans’ or whatever. Before I start saying your title is ‘I’m good on my own, thanks.’”

Isaac waves goodbye and takes off on foot before the tables turn on him more than they already have. “Where’s he going …” Stiles mumbles under his breath, grasping his backpack straps and looking after Isaac with his usual curiosity.

Erica has a one-track mind, though. “So what’s your sex tape, Derek?”

“Aaaand we’re leaving now,” Derek answers, raising his hand to the gearshift. “Bye, guys.”

He pulls away from the school, leaving Stiles and Scott behind. In the rearview mirror, Stiles is gesturing with his mouth moving, like he’s yelling something after them, and Derek can’t help but concede the curiosity has spread to him after all.

\-----

Derek and Scott maneuver the rougarou onto Deaton’s examination table with an onimous thunk. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to save it?” Scott asks. “And, like, cure it or reform it?”

Deaton shakes his head, practical and clinical as always. “It’s too far gone. By the looks of it - and you - this was quite a battle.”

The two werewolves still bear signs of the fight, their clothing ripped in several places and streaked with blood from wounds that have since healed. Their tired faces are likewise smudged with dirt, but also marked with their relief at being the ones left standing, rather than collapsed near-lifeless.

After deducing the rougarou’s location, the group had patrolled a particular area of the woods for over an hour until splitting up to cover more ground. Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Kira had gone one way while Scott, Stiles, Derek, and Allison went another. Despite Stiles’ conviction that their tracking was accurate, they’d been on the verge of giving up when they were caught by surprise.

Potently motivated by hunger and the power of the full moon, the rougarou wasted no time in attacking. Derek shoved Stiles out of the way, nearly causing him to collide into Allison. The two humans evaded the line of fire while Derek and Scott did their best to keep them out of the fight. As Scott slammed backwards against a tree trunk and Derek struggled to rise from a brutal blow to the chest, the rougarou saw an opportunity and took it.

Even though Stiles had converted a thick branch into a torch to ward the creature off with fire, it lunged at him without reservation. But Stiles doesn’t have more than minor scratches on him now, thanks to Derek intercepting the lightning fast enemy with even quicker instincts. Once Allison had an opportunity of her own, she one-upped the rougarou, sinking an arrow into its back. It stumbled for a second, but seemed to get a second wind, pitting Derek and Scott into a prolonged brawl that ended only when Allison was able to hit her mark again.

The second arrow pierced its skull, entering above the right ear and plunging in deeply. Brought to its knees, the rougarou keeled over face-first, hovering somewhere between gravely injured and dead. Unsure of what to do next, Scott called Deaton, who instructed them to bring the monster to his clinic, were Deaton would be waiting.

“The heart of a rougarou is a very useful thing to have on hand,” Deaton informs as he pulls on some gloves. “It’s a key ingredient in some medicinal treatments and potions. But I have to extract it while it’s still beating.”

Scott’s eyes dart towards Stiles with a quiet gasp. In an attempt to reassure him, Deaton continues. “The rougarou was only going to keep killing. You did the right thing by stopping it before it hurt anyone else. And now, it can do tremendous good in its final moments, Scott.”

“Is it going to feel it, though?” Stiles asks.

“No.” Deaton shakes his head, unconcerned. “Besides the other major wounds inflicted, the severity of the arrow’s impact has essentially left the rougarou in a vegetative state.”

Deaton makes quick work of the first incision and Scott lets out a breath when the rougarou has no discernible reaction. But when Deaton solicits his help in performing the dissection, Scott looks far less comfortable as he gloves up.

“Dude, I kind of wish Allison was still here to help with this. She probably has the strongest stomach out of all of us.”

Stiles’ mouth puckers in consensus. “Yeah, too bad she had to go home and learn some econ at two in the morning. Her test isn’t going to fail itself. Or actually, I guess it would.”

Deaton takes care of the heavy lifting while verbally directing Scott to which instruments Deaton needs and how to maneuver to give more visibility. As the procedure progresses, Scott seems more at ease, albeit slowly. “Stiles, I don’t know about being a vet anymore …”

“It’s okay to be squeamish, man,” Stiles says. “I’m sure it’s hard for most people at first, whether you’re working on monsters, animals, or human beings. Baby steps. And then one day, you’ll wake up and be like those medical examiners who work in the morgue and eat their sandwiches right next to dead people.”

“Is this how you felt when Derek wanted you to saw his arm off?”

“What? No.” Stiles turns to Derek. “That was totally different. You weren’t a monster. You scared - and annoyed - the shit out of me, but you didn’t do anything. Not like Freddy Krougarou over here. And even though you wanted me to do it, you were alive and kicking. Kicking and yelling at me, but uh, you know, I understood the urgency. Scott, I’m just glad you showed up with the wolfsbane bullet and I didn’t have to chop anything off after all.”

Derek rolls his left shoulder up and then back. “Yes, I do like having both arms still.”

“Would you really have cut off my head if I didn’t take that saw to your arm?” Stiles asks, lowering his voice for a side conversation.

Derek laughs under his breath. “Oh, is that what I said? I was … in a different headspace. Poison and all.”

“Yep, sure did.” Stiles nods with nearly 180 degrees of full motion. “You never forget your first. Threat of decapitation. Credible one, anyway. Not the silly playground stuff.”

“Well, you know I wouldn’t have done that.”

“You also said you would rip out my throat with your teeth.”

“That,” Derek considers, frowning in consideration, “I would have done.”

“Oh really?” Stiles cranes his head away and taps the side of his neck in challenge. “Go for it, I dare you.”

Derek’s eyeline migrates to Stiles’ frenetic motions on his smooth, dotted skin. “You haven’t done anything to earn it this time.”

“All figurative bark and no literal bite,” Stiles says, shaking his head in faux admonishment. “Maybe you’re the one who hasn’t earned a piece of this.”

“Speaking of a piece of this,” Deaton interrupts from the exam table, “I’m ready to remove the heart.”

Scott descends into a deeper shade of green. “Oh man. I think I might throw up. I know you said we had to take it out while it’s beating, but this is too weird …”

In trademark fashion, Deaton remains as calm as he’s been all night. “The heart will continue to beat on its own for a short time, even outside of the body.”

Scott can’t muster up much of a response in return, except for a choked sound in his throat. “Seriously … I -”

“Hey, hey, Scott, I got it,” Stiles says, stepping in and reaching for a pair of gloves. “You’ve done enough, I know it’s gnarly - I’ll finish the rest.”

With a knee buckling slightly, Scott backs up and Stiles takes his place, nodding to himself. “Yeah, this is fine,” he murmurs. “No problem, it’s just biology.”

Deaton changes the angle of his scalpel. “Okay now. Stiles, after I make this final laceration to sever, can you lift the heart out and secure it in that jar?”

“Sure, yeah, let’s go for it.”

Once the heart is resting in Stiles’ hands, reality catches up to him. His eyes widen, his breath catches, and in a jerky motion, he accidentally knocks over the waiting jar with his elbow. It crashes to the floor where it splinters into fragments and splatters preservation fluid.

Stiles’ panic grows exponentially as he turns to his left and then to his right, looking for another option. “Oh my God, it’s throbbing and I don’t have anywhere to put it!”

Reacting immediately, Derek hurries to get a similar container from Deaton’s supplies. When he rushes back, Stiles is all too happy to carefully place the heart in its new home in Derek’s hands.

As Deaton takes the jar to fill with more fluid, Stiles’ pulse slows and he downshifts into his normal demeanor. “Whoa. That was crazy. And did you catch that? Another sex tape title …”

Scott’s queasiness is apparently no match for the joke. He and Stiles share a laugh, which Stiles follows with a rueful shrug at Derek. “Sorry, Deaton,” Stiles says. “It sounds dumb and juvenile when I say stuff like that in front of adults. But come on - it was a beating, unattached heart. Levity helps. And no one puked, so there’s that.”

“Which could also be the name of your sex tape!” Scott points out handily.

\-----

Scott sighs as he measures out the correct amount of flour and pours it into a mixing bowl. “I really hope this works. I totally fucked up at dinner with your parents the other night. So I gotta make a nice gesture to show them I’m a worthy, respectable guy and creep into their good graces.”

“It didn’t go as badly as you think it did,” Kira reassures, perched on a bar stool in her kitchen.

Stiles nods. “And I don’t think respectable guys are supposed to do a lot of creeping, buddy. Take it from me, an utterly unrespectable guy who creeps all day, every day.”

“Okay, so I need to glide into their good graces. Homemade cookies should move the needle. They say, ‘trust me, I’m not too wild for your daughter, or so old-fashioned I think men don’t do things around the house.’ And baking them here will make it smell so good when they get home, they’ll forget all about the dinner.”

Stiles turns on the egg beater to mix the wet ingredients in a separate bowl. “Can I at least help?” Kira asks, raising her voice over the noise.

“No!” Scott protests. “That defeats the purpose. It has to come from me.”

“Or me, as your proxy,” Stiles chimes in.

“I don’t wanna mess this up. You’re allowed to help me. You’re my friend. But Kira, you’re their daughter, so you can’t help with my olive branch.”

Derek leans back against the granite countertop. “Why exactly am I here?”

“I asked you over in case we need more help than the recipe or google can provide,” Stiles says. “Since you grew up in a family with a lot of baking.”

“I told you that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, turning the egg beater off so he can scrape flyaway bits of butter and sugar down the side of the bowl. “When we were on stakeout duty a couple of months ago.”

“You remember that?” Derek asks, shifting his weight.

Stiles licks at a glob that landed on his thumb. “Yep. Your mom made awesome raspberry crumb cake.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy,” Stiles reads aloud from the recipe. “I’ve been doing this for a while, but I would not call this light or fluffy.”

“Just keep going,” Scott says. “You’re following the instructions and used room temperature butter. So I’m sure it’s right.”

Stiles surveys the consistency of the mixture as it slowly begins to resemble the recipe’s description. “Yeah, I hope so. Because I’m beating this as hard as I can.” Barely half a second passes before Stiles crows, “I’m beating this as hard as I can - name of my sex tape!”

“Don’t be giving my parents your imaginary sex cookies!” Kira laughs.

“Imaginary?!” Stiles asks, feigning offense. “I am baking for you! My hands are baking on behalf of your real romance!”

Kira shrugs, but doesn’t stop giggling. “Hypothetical sex cookies?” she offers instead.

Once Stiles’ portion does in fact become light and fluffy, the dough comes together and chills in the refrigerator. They pre-heat the oven and clean up the mess, and then Derek shows them how to efficiently scoop out the cold dough out into rounds that are rolled in a combination of cinnamon and sugar. He’s clearly done this before, which is all the vindication Stiles needs.

The heavenly aroma fills the house, just like Scott wanted, and the freshly baked snickerdoodles come out looking almost as good as they smell.

“I need your stamp of approval,” Scott says, passing one to Kira. As she takes a bite and nods in appreciation, Stiles picks up another and breaks it in half, handing one piece to Derek and sampling the other himself.

“Thanks so much for the assist,” Scott says. “These turned out great. Good graces, here I come.”

“It was mostly this guy.” Stiles jabs a thumb towards Derek. “Like I said, lots of baking. Complete mastery of technique.” Derek is still swallowing his mouthful, but Stiles doesn’t bother to press pause on his declaration. “Title of your sex tape!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Posted 5/7/19]

Stiles holds up a stack of small orange cones. “Safety first!”

“Since when?” Scott says, only half-kidding. “You’re the first one to jump into a dangerous situation.”

“Yeah, sure. When it’s already happening. But in a manufactured setting, no way is anyone getting hurt by accident.”

Stiles walks away from his spot next to Allison, who signals to him which directions to walk and how far. He lays down a slanted row of cones down one side and then the other, forming a brightly-lined V.

“The trees within the boundaries are fair game!” Allison yells out to everyone as a warning. “Step into the cones and we’ll do our best not to impale you, but no guarantees.”

Stiles visually surveys the area. “You guys don’t have to practice shooting with me and Lydia if you’d rather do something else. Beat the shit out of each other, find some flowers to make into crowns, talk about all of your hopes and dreams, whatever floats your boat.”

Allison nods. “Although it wouldn’t be a bad idea if everyone was more proficient with weapons. Most of you stick to hand-to-hand combat, but you never know when brute strength isn’t enough. Sometimes the achilles heel is best addressed through weapons. And/or distance or precision.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Isaac says, standing up from his crouched position nearby.

He usually agrees with Allison these days, so Derek doesn’t blink an eye when Isaac joins her and Lydia a few feet away. Of all of the betas Derek created, Isaac has always been the one most receptive to and comfortable with being part of something.

Scott’s open to it, too, but his dynamic with Allison is obviously different as her ex-boyfriend than when they were dating. Derek had never cared much for their relationship before - at the time, it had just seemed like an obstacle that distracted Scott and overcomplicated everything. Now that they’re no longer together, even Derek can appreciate how they’ve avoided bringing discord into the pack. Being mature about their break-up and starting to date other people is hard for full-blown adults, let alone teenagers.

“Dude, you into this?” Scott says, elbowing Stiles’ side.

“Totally. It was my idea. Not that anyone’s ever going to make me primary with a bow and arrow, but it doesn’t hurt to learn. My bat is better than nothing, but that’s what a video game character starts with on level 1. I gotta power up with crossbows or knives or something more than a default wooden club. I’m sure as shit not going to stay home because I can’t protect myself. And I don’t want to have to rely on someone else to do it for me.” Stiles’ head swivels towards Scott and then Derek. “Even though you guys are pretty good at it. It might come at your expense one day and I can’t do that. No way.”

“I don’t mind,” Derek says. He sounds more gruff than he means, but that’s what he always sounds like after years of being so defensive. Old habits die hard. “You overcompensate with other things.”

“Overcompensate could be my middle name. And at least people would know how to pronounce that vs. my actual first name.”

Derek knows better than to ask what Stiles’ birth name is. He’ll never get a straight answer. “It was nice of you to look out for Lydia, too,” he says instead. “She’ll probably like that more than some of the other things you’ve done for her.”

Stiles digs the heel of his shoe into the ground. “Oh, we’re not - I’m over it. I’ve been over it. It’s about time, huh? She was never into it.”

“It’s hard to keep liking someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Nah, I can live the unrequited life for a long time. But I think I liked the idea of her, mostly. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great, but now I’m all about actually really liking someone. Like, the reality of the person. And who I am with them.”

After Allison finishes her demonstration of proper stance and arm positions, Lydia takes the bow and imitates. Since Allison has given her lessons before, she’s a little more advanced than the others.

“Does it feel natural?” Allison asks. “Or is it taking a while for it all to come back? Do you remember the stuff I taught you earlier?”

Aiming for the thickest tree in the middle of their shooting range, Lydia closes one eye. “Intellectually, yes. Converting that to physical execution, remains to be seen.”

“Okay, just let it fly. I’ll assess and we can keep working on it.”

Lydia misses the tree, but not by much. Allison talks her through more attempts with Isaac standing by, observing intently and sharing encouraging remarks.

Once Lydia is hitting her target with more consistency, she takes a break and Scott steps forward with interest. “Guys, I’m gonna destroy this.”

The arrow has different ideas, slicing through the air at a high rate of speed and skewing far to the right. “Whoa!” Isaac yells, scrambling a few steps backwards as a reflex, even though he’s well behind the cones. “You could take an eye out with that thing!”

“Could take an eye out with that thing,” Stiles quietly repeats from his completely safe position next to Derek. “It’s the title of your sex tape.”

“That was a fluke!” Scott claims, still full of ambition. “C’mon, two out of three! Or maybe three out of five, I don’t know. Allison, can you show me again what you were doing, please? I should have been paying more attention …”

Stiles stuffs his hands into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. “Am I bothering you with my jokes?” he asks, turning at his waist to face Derek, even though the rays of shining light make him squint. “I’m sorry if I am. I’ll stop if I am.”

With his back against the sun, Derek’s eyes are wide open. “You mess around because you’re not afraid of me.”

“Well, no, I’m not.” Stiles smiles a familiar conspiratorial smile. “We’re way past that, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“‘Cause we’re, like, friends now.”

“Yes.”

“And friends can tease each other.”

Derek nods. “Yes.”

“Okay. But you can tell me if I’m taking it too far. Or whatever else you think about it.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, triumph. I got you to say something other than ‘yes.’ One of these days, I might even get a ‘cool’ or a ‘splendid’ out of you.”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, speaking louder with actions than he can with words.

“Okay, yeah.” Stiles motions further to the side. “So I’m just gonna go and not get shot over there …”

Derek’s unwavering stare follows him as Stiles shuffles away, intermittently glancing back. “Cool,” Derek finally says, more poker-faced than gruff this time, and Stiles’ laugh echoes through the trees.

\-----

It’s not that late, but it’s a school night, so the pack starts dispersing before 9 pm. Lydia is the first to rush out, so Derek surmises there’s an important test or a group project with useless team members due the next day. He sort of remembers those days. High school was a long time ago. Now, he doesn’t have to be anywhere unless there’s a physical fight brewing.

Boyd and Isaac are kicking back on the couch, so they don’t look like they’re heading anywhere soon. Derek may still be a loner at heart, but he’s not beyond enjoying company sometimes. Personal growth - Laura would be proud of him.

He particularly appreciates that they’re still around today. Stiles had mentioned the day before that his dad is working on a suspicious case, like Stiles had wanted to run it by Derek, but he isn’t expecting Stiles to remember. As it is, Scott is heading out the door with Stiles trailing after him as they continue their conversation.

Yeah, it’ll be nice to hang out with Boyd and Isaac instead of curling up with a book by himself.

He’s heading over to the sofa when Stiles’ voice rings out behind him. “Hey, so you wanna see that case?”

“I thought you left,” Derek says, turning around.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “I just had to tell Scott something before he went to the hospital to bring his mom dinner.”

“Okay. Sure. I’ll take a look.”

“Cool, thanks. I asked my dad if we could look at the file and he said it would be okay. He’s new to all of this supernatural stuff, so he could use another pair of eyes.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“Um,” Stiles begins. “Pretty good, in the grand scheme of things.”

A sudden commotion erupts as Boyd and Isaac argue over the remote control. “Children,” Derek grumbles, but he doesn’t mean it.

He steers Stiles into the kitchen, which is more removed from the noise. He doesn’t have any chairs or stools there, so Derek stands against one side of the L-shaped counter and Stiles follows suit, perpendicular against the other side.

“It’s a big step for him,” Stiles elaborates. “And he knows about I’m all mixed up in the danger, too, but he isn’t forcing me to stay out of it. So I really appreciate that he’s willing to let me look and I hope I can show him it’s a good move. I’m, like, really happy that coming clean to my dad is bringing us closer.”

“That’s good. I know he’s really important to you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles readily agrees, his clasped hands fidgeting at his hip. “I’ll always choose him - but in my mind, I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t have to choose him over Scott and you and my friends, like it’s one or the other and that’s the only way. I really don’t know what I would do if my dad tried to lay down the proverbial law. Well, I do know - I would lie and sneak around even more, but he’d expect that and catch me. He’d get super mad I defied him, and then I’d get mad right back. And he might do that whole ‘while you’re living under my roof, you follow my rules!’ thing and I might do that whole ‘then I won’t live under your roof!’ and stomp out thing. And then where would I go? Scott’s, until my dad tells his mom and she tries to get me to come home, but I can’t, so then I’d like, come over here because you’re the master of your domain. But then my dad probably wouldn’t like you very much after that.” Stiles cocks his head in thought. “And you probably wouldn’t like me very much after being around me for too long. And then I’d probably park my car under some bridge and live there for the rest of my life with all of the other lonely trolls.”

“Wow. You went from zero to sixty like that.”

Stiles shrugs. “It usually only takes me thirty seconds, tops. Oh, name of my sex tape.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think it would get to bridge-dwelling, anyway.”

“No, I don’t think so, either.” Stiles laughs to himself. “And to be clear, my dad does like you. He gets that Scott can’t always protect me, so he’s glad there’s someone else who does, but I don’t want to give him any real reasons not to like you. I’m just really glad that that rabbit hole, as extreme as it sounded, is mostly hyperbole. He’s keeping his mind as open as he can manage. He sort of has to, you know, to be effective at his job now that he knows. And I want to keep him safe. Anything less is unacceptable.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m happy to help. Let’s see if we can turn up anything.”

“Okay, great. My dad said we could look, but the file can’t leave the station or our house, so I couldn’t bring it here. Can you come over to my place?”

“Sure. I’ll follow you in my car.”

As they walk out, Derek absently waves at Boyd and Isaac. “Hey, we’re taking off. I’ll be back later.”

Isaac plants his heels, rising from his seat. “Oh, sorry - we didn’t mean to kick you out if you want -”

“No, it’s fine,” Derek says. “We have to go to Stiles’ house. Just lock up if you leave before I come back.”

“Okay,” Boyd says. “Do all kinds of things I wouldn’t do.”

Stiles raises his right eyebrow. “Basically everything I do fits that criteria!”

\-----

Derek rolls to a stop in front of the mailbox as Stiles pulls into the driveway next to his dad’s car. This isn’t the first time he’s parked so blatantly at Stiles’ house, but he’s still getting used to not hiding his association with people. Not hiding himself.

He catches himself subconsciously standing up straighter when Stiles turns the key in the front door. Sheriff Stilinski is nowhere in sight and most of the lights are off, except for a faint glow coming from the rear.

“I bet my dad’s watching tv,” Stiles says, casually striding through the house.

It’s half-true. The television is on, but the sheriff is fast asleep in a recliner with his head bent at an awkward angle. Derek watches as Stiles easily slips into caretaker mode, unfolding a soft knit quilt on the couch and draping it over his dad’s still form. He even dares to cup the sheriff’s face gently in his hands and guide it into a more comfortable position.

After Stiles dims the lights, he turns the volume down to a pleasant hum. “He likes the white noise,” Stiles explains.

Derek follows him towards the kitchen and rounds a corner. “You’re good at that stuff.”

“I like taking care of people. I know I seem kind of selfish sometimes -”

“I have never thought of you as anything close to selfish.”

“I can be,” Stiles shrugs. “I know it bugs my dad when I do stuff to take care of him because he thinks I’m picking up his slack, but I’m really not. It’s, like, right there in the terminology. Taking care of people is how you show them you care.” He spies two stacks of papers on the counter, ignoring the left pile of mail and rifling through the right pile until he extracts the folder of interest. “Jackpot!”

Stiles sits down at the kitchen table to open up his newest mystery. Derek takes the chair next to him, preemptively asking, “Are we going to wake your dad up?”

“Nah. He’s a heavy sleeper. And believe it or not, I can keep it down.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, all of Stiles’ past sarcastic whispers coming to mind. “He probably wouldn’t like it if we went up to your room.”

“No, that would be okay. It’s not like he doesn’t know you’ve been there before. Plus he’d think I’m the one corrupting you anyway.”

Stiles hands Derek the typed documents on top while he begins laying out the crime scene photographs. “Hey, are you hungry?” he asks. “There’s leftover pizza.”

Derek smirks. “You see a picture of some blood spatter and your brain tells you it’s time for red sauce?”

“I’m a growing boy!” Stiles insists, flexing an arm. “Look, it’s spaghetti. Especially compared to you.”

Derek does look, but the only spaghetti-like things he sees are Stiles’ prominent veins protruding beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt and all the way down his hand. “I’ll eat if you do.”

“Okay, read through this stuff while I warm some up.”

Stiles turns on the oven, opens the cardboard box resting on the stovetop, and reaches for a baking tray. “You can just pop it in the microwave,” Derek says.

“Sure, yeah, but it’s not as good. Reheating it in the oven makes it just like new. Crispy crust and everything. Trust me.”

Well, that’s easy to do. Derek has trusted Stiles with much bigger priorities than this.

Turning his attention back to the police report, Derek takes a few minutes to digest the information. “So this happened near the school, huh?”

“Yeah. Not on campus property, but close enough that my dad’s got his hackles up over it. He doesn’t want to have to worry about me there, too.”

“But no clear victims?”

“Yeah, not in the initial processing or uncovered since. The guy who was walking his dog through that field found fresh blood, but no bodies. If it was a predator-prey animal situation, there would have been some remains left. And there were enough cigarette butts and other litter around that it seems like people have been out there recently.”

Derek reads a few more paragraphs. “The trail of blood was a dead end?”

“Yeah, it just cut off and the K-9 unit couldn’t pick it back up. On the normal side, maybe the body was transported from there by people. On the not-so-normal side, maybe it was flown away or fucking vaporized or something, who knows?”

Derek examines another photo of the small puddles and smears of blood on the half-dead grass. “What is this? A broken bottle?”

“Yeah, it could be. Maybe the glass was used in some kind of assault, which you’d think would lean away from the possibility of a creature. Why use a glass bottle when you’ve got all kinds of other grrrrr ways of killing something. Or maybe the glass was already there.”

“What makes your dad think it might not be an entirely human matter?”

“Honestly …” Stiles rests his chin on his hands. “I think he was just so floored by all of the non-human stuff that’s happened in the past year that now he thinks it’s a possibility all the time. Like, logically he knows most of the crime he sees is just people. Supernaturals aren’t pulling smash-and-grabs or tagging property or dealing cocaine. But it’s gonna take a little more time for the logic to overrule the bewilderment. I’m hoping that once the lab analysis comes back, they can flag the blood as belonging to a known criminal and trace it back to a stab wound treated at the hospital. Something ordinary. My dad knows how to deal with ordinary.”

The timer beeps and Stiles hustles to turn it off so it doesn’t disturb the sheriff. “Yum,” he says, placing the slices on plates. “Let’s take a break. My dad frowns upon grease stains on official police paperwork.”

The reheated pizza is way better than Derek usually makes it, and Stiles grins like a cheshire cat when Derek tells him as much. It’s good fuel before they go back to poring over the case file.

They’re shoulder-to-shoulder when Derek turns at a noise behind them. A few seconds later, Noah strolls into the kitchen, his narrow eyes opening as he becomes more alert.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Stilinski yawns. “How’s it going, boys?”

“We’re almost done looking through everything,” Stiles says.

“I’m gonna put drops in my eyes and come back down, okay?”

“You sure, Dad? I can give you our expert opinion in the morning.”

“No, I’m good, I’m awake now.”

“Okay,” Stiles shrugs. “Want any pizza? There’s still some left.”

“Sure. Just nuke it for me.”

“Will do,” Stiles agrees as Noah shuffles upstairs. Reusing his empty plate, Stiles warms up another slice in the microwave and leaves it on the other side of the table across from him.

“Is your dad okay that I’m here at this hour?” Derek asks.

“Dude, of course. He knew you were going to come here or to the station. He’s just really curious what we think.”

“Do you want to go to the scene tomorrow? I can take a closer look and see if I smell anything. I know it’s been days, but I might be able to pick up on something that a human nose can’t. And I can actually speak on it, unlike the K-9 dog.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “That sounds good. Let’s meet up after school’s out. I’ll probably stop for a snack first. Maybe get boba. Want some?”

“I know what that is, but I’ve never had it before.”

“Oh, I get to show you more new things. You can try my taro milk tea, it’s so good. But boba is also a texture thing. It’s the sensation of, like, soft warm balls in your mouth.”

Derek side-eyes him and Stiles side-eyes right back, except with suppressed amusement threatening to spill out. “What, you don’t like that?” Stiles asks.

“I mean, if it tastes good,” Derek says, not quite realizing he’s tumbled right into another one of Stiles’ verbal traps until it’s too late.

“Oh, it does. And then comes the best part - fucking biting down and chewing to your heart’s content.”

Derek laughs in spite of himself, unable to match Stiles’ previous level of suppression. “I think the answer’s obvious, but how’s your dating life?” he asks wryly.

“Could be better,” Stiles chirps.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Posted 5/10/19]

As Derek waits in line at the drugstore, he mindlessly scans across the magazine racks. He only recognizes a small handful of the famous faces staring back at him, so he shifts over to the rows of impulse-purchase items.

That’s only mildly more interesting until he spies a carton of red and gold foil wrappers. Grabbing a package, he tosses it into his shopping basket. Stiles complains he can never find peanut butter Twix, so this should placate him for at least a day.

A day isn’t a very long time, though, so Derek pivots back and retrieves the last two, plus a tin of breath mints, before he pays for his purchases with a crisp $20 bill.

The bell over the door tinkles as he steps into the pleasant afternoon sunshine. Only a few feet out, he turns on his heel and finds exactly what he expects.

Stiles has run up behind him, an affable grin plastered on his face. Of course he’s happy - it’s a Saturday.

“Ah, fuck,” Stiles curses. “I saw you and I wanted to sneak up on you, but I guess I should know by now that’s impossible.”

“I smelled you,” Derek confirms. “Try it again when the wind is blowing in the right direction.”

“Okay,” Stiles smiles again.

It’s not going to work, but there’s no harm in humoring him. Derek could pick out Stiles’ scent even if he was blindfolded and standing in a parade crowd.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks. “Were you going to the drugstore, too?”

Stiles looks back. “Uh, later. Maybe I’ll grab lunch first. You wanna go eat?”

Before Derek can answer, his stomach rumbles loudly. “I think that speaks for itself.”

“Okay, let’s do it.” Stiles gestures in a general direction further down the street. “I like that cafe down there. Or are you in the mood for something else?”

Derek shrugs. Even though his demeanor suggests quite the opposite, he can be pretty easy to please. “No, that works for me.”

During the walk over, Derek reaches into his plastic bag and hands one of the Twix packages to Stiles. “Hey, do you want this?”

“Oh, sweet!” Stiles says, eyes lighting up and fingers immediately tearing it open. “Literally. Thanks!”

He sticks one bar in his mouth and offers the other to share. Derek bites through the layers of chocolate, peanut butter, and cookie. Mmmmm. Stiles has good taste sometimes.

Stiles does a 180, facing Derek and walking about half a stride ahead. He’s animated and high-spirited when talking about the movie he and Scott saw the night before. Derek hasn’t heard of it, but it sounds interesting, the way Stiles explains it.

As Stiles tries to verbally dodge spoilers, he physically trips over a slight rise in the concrete squares of the walkway, pitching backwards. He barely articulates the first syllable of shock, arms flailing, before Derek’s arm shoots out and grabs him securely around the bicep.

Stiles rights himself and faces forward this time. “Oh, thanks. You’re always saving me. And oops, I dropped it,” he says, cheeks turning pink as he picks up the dirt-covered candy and lobs it into a nearby trash can. “I only had a little bit left, but sorry to waste it. Thanks for giving it to me.”

“It’s okay.” Derek extends the part of his bar he hasn’t finished yet. “You can have the rest of mine.”

Stiles pops the Twix in his mouth. “Thanks,” he repeats, bumping his shoulder against Derek’s.

Without further incident, they approach the door of the cafe and sit down in a booth. As the waitress brings their drinks over and Stiles peruses the menu, hemming and hawing, Derek takes out the remaining candy packages and slides them across the table. “There’s more where that came from.”

Stiles blinks with even more amazement than the first time. “Thanks! Wow, did you buy the store out?”

“No,” Derek says, even though he sort of did. But he’s sure there were more in the back, so no, he didn’t. Not really.

“I hope you didn’t spend all your rent money in one place. My taste buds will enjoy it, though.”

Derek shrugs. “Well - I don’t pay rent.”

“Oh, really,” Stiles says, his voice taking on a salacious lilt. “Your sugar mama pays it or something?”

“No. Actually, I bought the building. I own it.”

Stiles is shell-shocked. “What? For real?”

Derek nods. “Yeah. After I stopped living in my family’s old house, I still needed my own space. Controlled space, where I didn’t have innocent people living right next to me. It’s not safe for them. So I found this building and bought the whole thing.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

“It wasn’t really because I was hunting for an investment. I don’t really think in financial terms that much. Probably a combination of having enough money that I never have to worry about it and not really spending it in the first place. But when I bought the building, the realtor told me I got it for a great price and I could end up making a lot of money on it, especially if I fixed it up. Which I haven’t, obviously.”

“You’ve done some stuff to it, but no, I guess it’s not gentrified for the masses. I like it better the way you have it. It’s … your je ne sais quoi.”

“Yeah, it suits me just fine. And I haven’t really tried that much to fix it up since I’m not that committed to it. I needed a place to live, but this isn’t ‘The Place’ for me. I don’t know how long I’ll stick around Beacon Hills anyway.”

“Oh.” Stiles looks down at his menu. “Yeah. You could just pick up and go any day now. Nothing really keeping you here.”

The waitress comes back, peering at them expectantly. “Do you know what you’d like to order yet?” she asks. “People love the Double Supreme cheeseburger; it’s a real favorite.”

“Um, I think that might be too much meat for me,” Stiles says.

Derek anticipates Stiles’ next statement - it’s just so easy for his mind to go there, especially since Stiles has been pulling this running gag for a while - but Stiles doesn’t crack the joke. Maybe he doesn’t want to offend the waitress or make her uncomfortable, but there’s no hint of the benign mischief below the surface.

Instead, Stiles just informs her of his selection. “I’ll have the battered fish tacos with a side of onion rings, please.”

“And I’ll get the cheesesteak sandwich with sweet potato fries,” Derek adds.

“Sure thing, coming right up. Be back soon.”

Stiles sips iced tea through his straw for what feels like a long time. The conversation lulls, though Derek realizes it’s probably unfair of him to always rely on Stiles so much to do the talking.

“Hey, about before, I just meant -” Derek tries to explain. “You guys aren’t going to stick around that much longer, either. Most, if not all, of you will probably go off to college or something after you graduate. I can either stay or go somewhere else, too. I might stay to help Argent and your dad, but … maybe people are safer without me around. Maybe things will be quieter in Beacon Hills if I’m not here to begin with. It wasn’t such a cesspool of bad everywhere until I came back to town.”

“No,” Stiles interrupts, deep frown lines appearing on his forehead and around his mouth. “That’s not true. Peter’s the one who started everything by biting Scott and killing people and putting werewolves back on the radar. Which is why Jackson had any idea about them and wanted to be one, too, which is why you turned him, because he wanted it. And you didn’t make him actually turn into a kanima, and you didn’t make Matt use him as a homicidal mercenary. And fuck, really - Kate and Gerard - those fucking lunatics - they have their own psycho agendas, with or without you. Never mind the energy of the nemeton being the shitty gift that keeps on giving. The bad stuff was never because of you.”

Derek sighs. “Thanks. I hope you’re right. But I might see for myself soon enough, when you leave and I’m still here. If things don’t get better then, I might pack up and move on just to see if that helps. This town has been through way too much as it is.”

“You can go wherever you want to, Derek. You’re not a curse or anything.”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. I guess I’ll figure it out.”

“The rest of us - well, okay, except for Lydia - haven’t figured it out, either. It’s about the journey, not the destination. Is what I read in a fortune cookie once. And everyone’s gonna stay in touch, for sure. Like, you’re not gonna delete my number from your phone, right?”

“No,” Derek answers. “That would be too much work.”

“Hahaha,” Stiles deadpans. “I don’t know, have you talked to Boyd about his post-graduation plans? He might want a fresh start somewhere else, and you can go with him. Or with Isaac. Or like, with any of us.”

“Maybe. What are your plans for after high school?”

Stiles pushes his drink to the side and leans forward. “East Coast sounds good - what do you think?”

\-----

Derek pulls over to the side of the road and parks behind the stalled Jeep. “Hey Stiles,” he calls out.

Stiles’ head pops around the raised hood. “Hey Derek. Thanks for coming. I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything.”

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t busy.”

“Okay, good. ‘Cause you’re my good luck charm.”

“What?” Derek says, nearly at a loss for words. “What about me has ever been lucky? Or brought someone else good luck?”

“Oh, you know, just little stuff. Like constantly not dying. Peter didn’t attack me at the hospital, and I survived Jackson’s wrath in the pool with you, and again later at the station. I could go on. And the last time my car broke down and I was able to fix it, you were there. It’s like athletes who win a game and then wear the same pair of socks or indulge the same superstition at every game afterwards. You have to be here to make the Jeep run again.”

“Do you want me to actually do anything?” Derek asks, stepping up to the bumper.

Stiles smirks. “Nah, you can just stand there and look pretty. But seriously, I’ll tell you if I could use an extra pair of hands. Or more muscle than I bring to the table.” He fiddles around some more under the hood, removing a worn-down strip of duct tape. “Can you hold this together while I secure it again?”

Derek does as requested and Stiles’ nimble fingers work quickly, his knuckles brushing past Derek’s hand. “I bet you wonder why I keep clinging to this,” Stiles rambles on. “The money my dad and I spend nursing it back to health could go towards a perfectly reasonable used car instead.”

“I guess,” Derek shrugs. “But a perfectly reasonable used car wouldn’t mean anything to you except for function. Not like this one.”

“Yeah. It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but I must be too loyal for my own good.” Stiles laughs to himself. “You understand that - you’ve been the beneficiary of that.”

Derek nods. “And, well,” he ventures, “this was your mom’s car, right?”

Stiles turns away from the engine to stare at Derek, his mouth open in surprise. “How did you know that? You told me about your mom’s baking. I never told you this.”

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“No, it’s not. And you didn’t even know my mom. You can’t know what kind of car she drove.”

“I didn’t know her, that’s true. But I know you. And I know about losing people. What it means to keep them close to you.”

“Hmmm, yeah,” Stiles murmurs, going back to his repairs and tightening a bolt. “Can you see if you can turn this more?”

Derek takes the wrench from Stiles and manages to move it a marginal amount. “So, like,” Stiles asks, “what do you keep close?”

Derek is silent while he confirms the bolt is as good as it’ll get. “My dad’s monogrammed cufflinks. They were a present from his dad and he wore them when he married my mom. Those made it out of the fire okay.”

“Oh man, I’m really sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Derek says, handing the wrench back to Stiles gently. “I started it. I brought up your mom.”

“You thinking about wearing them when you get married, too?”

“That’s the idea,” Derek says, bobbing his head in an awkward hybrid of a nod and a shake. “That’s what he would have wanted. But that’s putting the cart way, way before the horse. I don’t even know if I want to get married. Or who would want to marry me. God, who would want that?”

“You’re not as unlikeable as you think you are,” Stiles says, his tone light and breezy. “You have options. The cufflinks will get more mileage. Just like good ol’ Roscoe here.”

Stiles straightens up and pulls the hood back down once Derek moves out of the way. “Come on, baby. You have it in you,” Stiles coaxes as he caresses along a curve of the metal, just above a headlight. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it.”

“Hehe, I know it’s hard, but you can do it,” he repeats to Derek. “Name of your sex tape. Anyway, cross your fingers.”

Stiles climbs back into the driver’s side and slides the key into the ignition. “Are they crossed?” he checks.

Derek indulges him and holds up two fingers intertwined on his right hand. After the Jeep promptly starts, Stiles whoops in victory. “See, what’d I tell ya?” he says, leaning out the window and beaming. “Good luck.”

\-----

Stiles slides the loft door closed and gives his head a series of hard shakes, droplets of water flying off around him. “Geez, it’s really coming down out there.”

He’s not telling Derek anything newsworthy - how could Derek miss the storm as though he doesn’t have a giant wall of windows and super hearing - but Stiles explains his less-than-ideal state anyway. His clothes are mostly saturated, except for the area concealed by his backpack, and the color in his face is washed out.

“It didn’t seem that bad when we wrapped up our study session in the chem lab. And the parking lot wasn’t that far away, but everyone got super wet. Title of your sex tape. But at least I didn’t get drenched again coming over here. Yay for the covered garage gods.”

Derek gets up from the couch where he’s dry and comfortable in contrast. “You’re soaked.”

“Don’t worry about Deaton’s books, though. I forgot an umbrella, but my backpack is waterproof, so the books are fine. We can still research.” Stiles sets his bag down by the coffee table and unzips the main compartment to confirm. “Yep. No problem.”

Derek’s muscles don’t uncoil, regardless of Stiles’ assurances. “But you must be freezing. Do you have any extra clothes in there?”

“Nope. I have an empty Doritos bag and some gum wrappers, but I’m not on Project Runway - I can’t make that work.”

“Come on,” Derek says, leading Stiles deeper into the loft. “Take a hot shower and you can borrow some clothes.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll take a silk robe if you’ve got one. Preferably with a cherry blossom pattern?”

Derek doesn’t dignify the facetious request with a response. Instead, he picks out a henley and a pair of sweatpants. “These might be a little long for you, but we’re at home, so who cares.”

“You’re not that much taller than me,” Stiles insists.

“I’m taller.”

Stiles shrugs. “Even if these are too long, I’m sure I can find something that isn’t. We can have a spontaneous fashion show.”

Derek stares at him. “I would rather buy you the cherry blossom robe. And since when have you been interested in fashion?”

“I’m not,” Stiles says, walking into the bathroom and grabbing the fluffiest towel in the cabinet. “I just wanted to see what else you have besides dark clothes to hide in the shadows of the night.”

After Stiles shuts the bathroom door, Derek makes his way into the kitchen to brew some coffee. He doesn’t have much in the way of kitchen appliances and tools, and Stiles has given him a hard time about it, flippantly asking in the past for a melon baller, crockpot, and mandoline, as though he or Derek would actually use any of those things. A coffee machine, however, is a must.

Shortly after the coffee is ready, Stiles emerges from the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps negligible to anyone else, but immediately registering to Derek’s ears. Stiles’ hair is still wet, but his body is warmed through and his skin is back to a healthy shade of peachy-pink.

“I hung my clothes up to dry in the bathroom, if that’s okay,” he says, taking a seat on the couch next to Derek. “And thanks for the loaners and the plumbing. I do my best work when I’m not pruned up like a frozen raisin.”

“Are you still cold? Do you need socks?”

“Oooh. Werewolf socks.”

“Werewolf socks are just socks.”

“No, it’s okay.” Stiles wiggles his toes. “I’m cozy now.”

“I made some coffee,” Derek says, passing Stiles one of the insulated tumblers on the table. “Or in your case, human coffee. If you want some.”

Stiles brightens visibly at the mere promise of caffeine. “Oh thanks. Thanks so much.”

He sets the tumbler down and curls his hand over the lid when Derek interrupts. “It’s already done. You don’t need to add anything. Two splashes of milk and about one and a half packets worth of sugar?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s usually how I take it. And sometimes -”

“A little bit of cinnamon and vanilla.”

Stiles laughs. “No surprises - I’m so predictable. Predictable and vanilla! Oh, name of my sex tape.”

“Yes, you can be,” Derek smirks. “The entire world knew you were going to say that.”

Stiles takes a sip of his coffee, sighs with satisfaction, and goes back for more. “Now you’re my good luck charm and my on-call barista. Bet you can’t wait to see what’s next.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

“Spoiler alert,” Stiles says, tucking his feet up on the sofa and opening a book on his lap. “It’s my new life coach.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Posted 5/15/19]

Derek’s getting much better about not showing up during class hours - and not glaring at anyone he sees - so he feels more comfortable being visible on campus. He’s not sure what he would say if he was stopped by a school administrator, but hopefully that doesn’t happen since the last bell rang two hours ago. ‘My high school friends asked me to meet them here’ doesn’t sound upstanding when he has the five o’clock shadow of a 35-year-old man.

Stiles and Lydia are exactly where Stiles said they would be, studying at one of the outdoor lunch tables by themselves. With his hands laced together on his stomach, Stiles leans back. “At last, the hero comes.”

Lydia keeps scribbling in her notebook. “Oh, she’s been here the whole time.”

“But I can’t say that’s the title of your sex tape,” Stiles says, laughing and peering up at Derek. “So it’s yours.”

“Well, at least you gave me some payoff. Hey, Lydia.”

“Hi, Derek.”

Stiles shuts his binder. “Lydia, go ahead and finish that math problem. I’ll get Derek up to speed.”

Lydia murmurs her assent, her pencil still bobbing rhythmically against the page. Taking Derek by the elbow, Stiles leads him a healthy distance away.

“So I wanted to have a meeting of the minds,” Stiles says, scratching the back of his head, “to talk about our nascent banshee over there. To talk TO her, really. This is all so new to her and she’s still trying to figure out what the hell this means and how she feels about it. So I thought she should talk to you.”

Derek raises his eyebrows, but Stiles barrels forward like the word ‘huh?’ is flashing in red lights on Derek’s forehead. “Obviously, I know you’re not a banshee and being a werewolf isn’t anything similar. Actually, she’s mostly just wanted to talk to me so far since I’m human and I guess I theoretically have a similar reference point - how would I feel if I were in her shoes? Scott has first-hand experience, too, but she’s not that close to him and honestly - I want her to feel okay about this and it’s not like he really knows anything about banshees, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods. “And he’s not exactly thrilled about being a werewolf himself, either.”

“I’ve found some information about banshees from the usual credible sources, but it’s not enough, And don’t even get me started on the internet. It’s basically useless. Some of it’s right, but way less detail than I already have, some of it’s total bullshit, and the rest is from the viewpoint of a distorted, self-serving male gaze. Easily one of my least favorite male gazes.”

“I’m definitely not an encyclopedia, but I know some things.”

“Perfect,” Stiles says, heading back towards Lydia. “And your gaze is pretty acceptable, so let’s have it.”

After he assumes his seat on the bench next to her, he casually props his cheek on his hand. “Hey, Lyds, let’s take a break.”

Lydia sets her pencil down, blinking in amusement. “Okay.”

Derek sits across from them. He’s always found them to be interesting together. Two of the most intelligent people he knows, in two completely contrasting packages. It didn’t really surprise him when he learned last year that Stiles was pining for her.

“So about your newly discovered supernatural self -”

“Actually,” Derek says, “banshees aren’t supernatural, technically. In some ways, you’re just as human as anyone else. In the physical sense, you’re just as human. But the way you can interact with supernatural forces, you do have powers.”

“Like one of the X-Men. And your name would be Gingersnap or something. Or like, if we’re talking DC Universe, you’d be the Crimson Calculator.” Stiles forcibly stops himself from gesticulating in the air. “Uhhhh, or I could be making this worse.”

“No, you’re fine, Stiles.” A split second later, the corners of Lydia’s mouth quirk up into a slight smile. Derek knows a lot about forced smiles - ranging from being subjected to stupid small talk at the grocery store or putting up with Grandma Hale pinching the life out of his cheeks as a child - and this one’s not forced. “Your excitement is aspirational. I hope it rubs off on me.”

“I know I’m still just a regular human.” Stiles shrugs. “And that’s the way I like it. So on some level, I might be talking out of my ass when I encourage you to feel good about knowing you’re not a regular human, too. But you’re extraordinary, Lydia. So this is just another extraordinary thing about you.”

Lydia’s face relaxes at Stiles’ words. He’s a really good friend. He’s really good at friendship. Even if it seems like caretaking comes easily to him, it still takes more of his time and consideration than a lot of people put into it.

Derek’s pretty acceptable gaze shifts over to him, who’s as earnest as ever, but his eyes don’t shine with that brightness they used to have with her. Derek supposes Stiles really is over her, like he said he is.

“Of course there’s an adjustment period, but not being a regular human isn’t bad,” Stiles continues. He flicks an errant leaf on the table in Derek’s direction. “Different doesn’t mean bad. You’re not something to be feared or mistrusted. Nothing about you is a monster. You have to know you’re amazing exactly the way you are.”

\-----

‘Party,’ ‘at,’ and ‘Derek’s’ are normal words, but it will never stop sounding weird to Derek to hear other people say them in that order.

Actually having a party at his loft is even weirder, but maybe it’s not really on the level of a party. Maybe it’s just a more organized pack meeting, scheduled in advance for no official reason and with tons of food that everyone brings.

He’s not really sure whose idea it was. As far as he knows, Erica was the first one to suggest it, but that doesn’t mean it was her brainchild. Anyone else could have planted the seed - that’s how his pack of misfit teenagers functions.

It’s a good pack.

Stiles bounces his shoulders to the music and scoops up some bean dip with a tortilla chip. “We should throw a rave here. Sanctioned, I mean. If that’s okay with the boss.”

Derek shakes his head. “Define rave.”

“Like, a baby rave,” Stiles fails to clarify, holding his plate out so Derek can try the dip, too. “Just this group. No randos unless they’re official +1’s. Maybe Greenberg. But he’ll probably get lost on the way here, go figure.”

“Who the fuck is Greenberg?”

Stiles’ face is the picture of practiced, almost-sincere innocence. Derek is about 90% sure Stiles is kidding, but he could be wrong. Even when Stiles is transparent, he isn’t exactly simple.

“You know Greenberg,” Stiles continues vaguely. “He’s always around.”

“Oh.” Derek nods. “HIM. Of course. He’s like a brother to me.”

Stiles smiles at the exchange, deciding to give up the wisecrack. “A baby rave is just about loud beats and blacklights and not having having a care in the world. Being happy and safe together.”

“Oh, is that what you had in mind? Because your dancing is …” Erica attempts. “Courageous.”

Stiles throws his head back with laughter. “There are some things that scare me in life. Dancing is not one of them. For better or worse.”

“I enjoy your dancing,” Isaac volunteers. “I look great compared to you. The enthusiasm and effectiveness of a drunk puppy.”

“You get me, man,” Stiles says, raising his drink and bumping it against Isaac’s. “Goes without saying, but I’ll still say it - that’s the title of my sex tape.”

Derek laughs, too, but he doesn’t think Stiles is a bad dancer. So maybe Stiles isn’t that skilled and requires more physical space than most people, but he doesn’t try to be anything he’s not. He just puts himself out there.

“Okay!” Stiles announces to everyone, his voice drifting over the speakers. “This is a democracy, so let’s take a vote. And Derek, ehhhhhh, since this is your place, I’ll be fair and give your vote the weight of two people. Who wants to have a super fun time raving out over here, and who wants to stay at home by themselves, wondering why the world doesn’t want them to live a full and satisfying life?”

Derek doesn’t need to pan the room to know that everyone’s hands have shot up in the air, and obviously not for the second option.

He shrugs. His casa really is everyone’s casa. That’s how his pack of misfit teenagers functions.

As Derek opens his mouth, Stiles makes a sheepish face like he’s waiting for the hammer to drop, except that’s not what Derek drops at all. “Okay, fine. You win. But does anyone have a picture of this Greenberg guy? Who is this person?”

\-----

The pack progressively streams out of the loft, one or two at a time. It’s a lazy Saturday and no one’s in a hurry - not even those transitioning to a late date night, like Scott and Kira.

Stiles is perched on the edge of the main table, looking down at his phone and laughing obnoxiously. “What’s so funny?” Derek asks.

“Dude, check your messages. Everyone’s in this group chat except for Allison and Isaac. We threw it together quickly so we could talk about them and their secret love. Like, I get why they think no one has caught on because they can be pretty subtle about it, but I’d be shocked if they don’t meet back up later tonight.”

“I don’t really care about their love,” Derek says, but he still picks up his cell from his bedside table.

Lydia spared no exasperation in her take, sending a message soon after she left. “Seriously, these two are also on the Delayed Coupling train? What is in the water here?”

Scott replied with the emoji of a monkey clasping his hands over his mouth, and shortly after, Kira added, “Yes, I can vouch for the fact that he really did just make that face.”

Stiles’ text of “I know, what is their deal?” is the last one, although Derek is sure this isn’t the end of the conversation. It’ll pick up again the next time Allison and Isaac do something ambiguous.

“All right, guys,” Boyd says, getting up from the couch and stretching towards the ceiling like he’s been sitting down for years. “My mom wants me to come home and hang with her. She’s probably going to fire up a recorded episode of Jeopardy and gossip about girls she thinks I should date. See you snails later.”

Stiles frowns in confusion. “Snails? Is that what the cool kids are saying these days? Whatever. You should escar-go. Get it? I’ll see your English slang and raise you French cuisine.”

Once Boyd leaves, Stiles is the only one left, eating a brownie and swinging his legs back and forth. “I’ll help clean up,” he volunteers, hopping off the table and landing on buoyant feet. “I carbo-loaded.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Stiles is diligent and focused as he begins making a dent in the heart of the mess. At the same time, Derek makes his way around the fringes of the loft, straightening up the things that belong there and gathering the trash that doesn’t. How did so few people end up using so many red Solo cups?

Music is still playing in the background on low volume - one of Isaac’s playlists, from the sound of it - but otherwise, they’re quiet as they work. The silence is comfortable, and it’s not like Stiles needs direction. He putters around fluently, tucking the extra packets of chili flakes into the box of portable condiments resting on the kitchen counter, but throwing out the little containers of dipping sauces they didn’t use. Derek doesn’t protest in the slightest; they’re usually too sweet for his taste.

Stiles rounds up the aluminum cans and plastic bottles, pours the excess liquid down the sink, and adds them to the recycling. With the separate trash bag in tow as well, Stiles heads out. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’m gonna bring this downstairs.”

While he’s gone, Derek pops the rest of the leftover food in the refrigerator. It’ll make a decent late night snack or easy breakfast the next day. Enough for multiple portions, too. It doesn’t take very long to wipe down the tabletops, and he’s just finished sweeping the floors when Stiles returns.

Stiles troops into the kitchen and back out with freshly washed hands, humming slightly off-key as he walks through the loft and scans with his usual curiosity. “Did we get everything?”

Nothing seems to jump out at him, so he flops down on the end of Derek’s bed, falling back dramatically. “I’ve been worked to the bone,” he laments.

From a few feet away, Derek stares. It’s his default mode, but he wouldn’t be able to stop himself for anything in the world.

“Earth to Derek,” Stiles says as he props himself up on his elbows. “I said, are we missing anything?”

He sounds so amenable - that genuine, fluid mix of sharp and soft that Derek has gotten so used to. Though it’s more than that, he knows. He’s grown to welcome it. He counts on it.

Derek still doesn’t say a word, a deeper part of him roaring to life when Stiles squirms and his knees fan out even farther.

“Hey, man.” Stiles more than squirms now; he stands up altogether. “Are you okay?”

Derek moves quickly, his body somehow taking orders he isn’t sure his brain is even sending, and he closes the distance between them. “No. Yes.”

Stiles cocks his head in a tiny stutter. “What?”

Derek’s green eyes connect with Stiles’ luminous, confused ones, and all he can think is ‘yes.’ “You know, maybe, a drunk puppy isn’t so bad.”

Stiles’ jaw drops. “Uhhhh, do you mean literally? Because that’s probably animal cruelty.”

“No. Not literally.”

Stiles’ entire face perks up in realization. “Are we doing a thing? Is this us, riffing off each other?”

The easy expressiveness on display cuts through the last thread of rope holding Derek back, and he’s just falling right into the amber. “Now there’s that enthusiasm.”

“Are you -” Stiles stops short as a flash of dejection crosses his features. “Is this just part of the joke?”

“I’m not really a jokey kind of guy. You know that. That’s more your thing. I know I’m pretty serious most of the time. And now’s not any different.”

Stiles looks him dead in the eye, blinking only when he physically has to. “So, like …” he says, his mouth curving into a nearly imperceptible, hopeful smile.

As Derek’s mind finally catches up to what he’s been doing and saying, he merely nods back. Stiles’ lips part as though he’s about to say something - probably a million things - but he doesn’t. Instead, he sinks down on the bed and runs his hands down his nose and jaw.

Derek sits, too, angling his body towards him. “I guess I cracked the secret to shutting you up.”

Stiles turns to Derek, that little smile back on his face. “I was waiting for you to flirt back, but you never did. I thought it might be all in my head, the idea that we could be good together and you might see it that way, too. Don’t get me wrong, I was … grateful to be friends with you, and it’s okay if that’s all you wanted. But …”

“What? You? Grateful for me?”

“Hey, you’re worth being grateful for,” Stiles says, looking almost hurt by the contrary. “I really like having you in my life. You make things more interesting. You make everything just … more. And I was happy to have you any way I could. So I was okay that you never really bit whenever I baited you.”

“You’re braver than me.”

Stiles laughs. “I guess it depends on the situation.”

“You are. You’re brave enough that you could have asked me out. Told me you liked me or something.”

“I could have told YOU?” Stiles asks incredulously, pointing back and forth in the inches between them. “Not in those words. I can only take so much risk, you know. It’s hard to find the right balance of giving you signals, but staying short of awkward if they’re not reciprocated. That’s how social scripts work. Not that I really expect you to be up on that kind of stuff. So yeah, maybe that was dumb of me and I should have been more clear. I make a lot of jokes in general. I can see how you might have thought there was nothing behind the jokes I made with you. The way I just did. And that second of preemptive disappointment sucked. Is that what you thought? That I didn’t mean anything by it?”

“The voice in my head is not always …” Derek fumbles. “It’s not - sometimes it tells me things to protect me. You’re right, disappointment sucks. But you’ve never disappointed me. I just … I didn’t want to let myself think things and do things that would lead to that feeling - creating that disappointment - when you were never anything but you.”

“So why did you - why is this happening now? What did I do?”

Derek shakes his head. “I know this seems spontaneous. Impulsive. And I guess it is, for me. But you didn’t do anything extra. You’re the same. Really smart. You see me. I like the way you see me. And you’re so loyal. You’re always there.”

“I’ll always show up for you,” Stiles says.

“Yeah. I know you will. And I wanna show up for you, too.”

Stiles shrugs with a twinkle of a giggle. “You do. You have.”

“You just looked so good on my bed,” Derek says, blushing enough that he can feel the heat blooming over his face. “And you weren’t even in it, really. I just ...”

Stiles bites his lip, shoulders rising closer to his ears in uncharacteristic shyness. “It got you going? More than my sex tape jokes?”

“Yeah, it was hot. And I knew I would smell you on the blankets when I go to sleep tonight.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Stiles lays down again, this time scooting further up the bed and starfishing out for good measure. “Or maybe like this?”

Derek laughs as Stiles reaches to pull the top of the comforter down, exposing more of the gray sheets underneath. As he slides up to lie face-to-face with Stiles, he’s never felt so attracted to anyone or anything before in his entire life.

“It just really - I liked seeing you in my personal space like that. You’re so comfortable here, and I … I’m comfortable with you here. It’s just hard for me to admit how much I care about you sometimes.”

Stiles laughs again. Derek could listen to him laugh forever. “Really? Sometimes it’s hard for me to hide how much I care about you. But now I guess I don’t have to, huh?”

“No. No more hiding. But I think I’d prefer it if you don’t spill everything about us in these group chats you guys have.”

“Oh, no way. I don’t kiss and tell, but fair warning, if I want dating advice, I’m gonna ask people for it. Boyd and Scott, for sure. Erica will somehow read my mind and just tell me things unsolicited. And I’ll talk to my dad sometimes, too. But some stuff is off limits, I know. It’s just between us.”

“I’m okay with that,” Derek agrees.

“I wonder if everyone will be surprised. Kind of and kind of not. I feel like I must be goofy as fuck when I flirt with you. They must know about me. But they probably don’t know about you.”

Derek thinks. “Yeah. Hmmmm. They might be surprised by me. Not because I could never feel that way about you. But because I’m so … I know I can be like a brick wall. So I suppose that’s what changed. Why this is happening now. I changed. I’m ready to change. I don’t have to be afraid of you. Not too afraid of you to want something more. I don’t - I don’t want to be missing out on you.”

“YOU afraid of ME?”

“I’m sensing a theme here about what you think of yourself compared to what you think of me.”

“How could I be a threat to you? I have razor-sharp wit, not razor-sharp claws.” Stiles wiggles his decidedly unclaw-like fingers in the air. “And I’m, you know, pretty much crazy about you and everything that makes you broodingly appealing and dour. Look at how I’ve been coming on to you! Like I said - crazy!”

“Being afraid … is not really about what someone could do to me on the surface. I’m not that scared of anything we’ve fought. Because that kind of head-to-head is mostly flesh and blood. With some exceptions, like Kate. Being hurt in an attack is not being vulnerable. Not for me, it isn’t. But when it comes to you …”

“I wouldn’t -” Stiles starts.

“I know.” Derek sighs. “But for a long time, I thought I could only take so much risk, too. And that was barely at all. So if we do this - and I want to do this - that means I’m opening myself up to be hurt by you.”

Stiles nods, slowly and thoughtfully, as his eyes flick down and then back up again with the warmth of a thousand suns. “I suppose it can be that way,” Stiles says, his voice low. “But I really want you to know - no one wants to protect you more than I do. I promise, with me, you’re opening yourself up to be loved.”

“Title of your sex tape?” Derek suggests, and Stiles leans in, their lips joining in a blazing spark of release.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Posted 5/19/19]

It’s taken almost a week, but Derek and Stiles have finally finished painting the walls of their new house and a new sofa was just delivered. Most of their belongings are unpacked and in various stages of organization, with the kitchen being one of Derek’s priorities. Stiles doesn’t mind eating take-out and cereal, but Derek is looking forward to cooking real meals for him.

The neighbors seem pleasant so far. To their right is a much older couple who often sits on their front porch and waves to them as they drive past. A family with two kids lives to their left. The parents keep apologizing about the shrieks and screams that float over from their backyard, but Derek is as insistent in response that it’s no trouble. People should enjoy their families, messiness and all.

Derek plans to spend more time in their own backyard once he fixes up the somewhat neglected deck. While most of the necessary repairs look cosmetic in nature, he’ll probably have to replace some of the wood altogether. The landscaping could use some sprucing up, too, but it’s worth the effort required.

This is more than a place to live. This is their home.

“Hey, stud, get over here!” Stiles summons from the living room. “I’m screening our feature film!”

Derek is in the middle of breaking down cardboard boxes, but he emerges from the garage to join Stiles on their new couch. Indulging in a small bounce on the cushion, Derek hums with approval.

Stiles leans over the coffee table to start a video on his open laptop. On the screen, Stiles’ eager face hovers closely for a couple of seconds before he gives a thumbs up sign.

“You’re such a dork,” Derek says, throwing his arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles nestles into him, his eyes never leaving the picture in front of him. “I know. Good thing you think dorks are irresistible.”

It’s neither normal nor strange to Derek to watch the events of the previous night unfold before them. He was there - he knows exactly what happened - but it’s certainly different to see it all from this vantage point. He’s typically multitasking and swallowed up in the moment when they’re having sex, so more removed on the couch, he’s riveted by being able to see Stiles in a very focused way. At the same time, he misses the senses the video doesn’t afford him. He loves smelling the need rolling off Stiles in waves and feeling everything about Stiles underneath his hands - Stiles’ body heat, his perspiration, his pulse, the quivers and tremors of his muscles. Watching Stiles wrap his legs around him or arch into him in a video will never be as good. But that wasn’t the point of making a sex tape, so Derek sits back and views it for what it does provide.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” Stiles says, slouching on the couch. “I wish I smoked so I could have a cigarette. Or maybe I’ll just put something way better in my mouth later. Heh, you think?”

After six years together, Stiles’ sex drive is as active as ever. Derek knows it’s not inherently because of him, but he takes a lot of pride in satisfying Stiles like it’s the beginning of their relationship - like they don’t take each other for granted and they truly appreciate each other.

Derek appreciates Stiles more than he can ever express in words or physical acts. And it’s right there on the computer screen, the way Stiles has picked up on the little erogenous zones that Derek has never articulated. Derek has never been with anyone who paid so much attention to what he likes. He’s not sure he even knew what he really liked until he was with someone he really loved.

Last night’s Derek holds Stiles tightly to his frame and flips them into a completely different position with Stiles on top. On the couch, Stiles half-sighs and half-groans. “You can toss me around like a rag doll and I fucking love that shit.”

Like usual, Stiles has all of the words while Derek is a man of far fewer. Except during sex. Stiles’ brain mostly goes offline during sex, so the version of him on the screen doesn’t match his chatty self today, sprinkling in bits of random commentary.

“Ooh, actually, I’d rather watch you put something in your mouth. Look at that. Mmmmm-hmmmm.”

“God, the muscles in your back. Yeaaaaaaah, just like that. Flex for me.”

“Oh, my toes really do curl with you sometimes. It’s not just an expression.”

The video isn’t over yet, but Stiles turns to Derek with a tentative, lopsided smile. “So what do you think? Are you uncomfortable?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m glad we tried it. The camera didn’t make me self-conscious like I thought it might. And to be honest, I didn’t even really notice myself that much just now. I’m more like, “Get out of the way, guy! You’re blocking the view!’ Is it weird at all for you?”

“Kind of … I don’t really like my balls.” Stiles barks with laughter, triggering a similar reaction from Derek. “I’m just kidding. I’m not all about how I look. But I didn’t want to do this so I could see what I look like having sex. I wanted to see us. Together. And I love watching how much I love being with you. You turn me into a big puddle of jell-o. It’s cool to see after-the-fact.”

They fall back into silence as Derek’s push and pull bring Stiles closer and closer to the edge. “You know, I thought I might hate the way I sound,” Stiles says. “Like when you hear your own voice on tape and it sounds so different than it does inside your own head. But I guess I don’t talk that much. And all of the other noises I make are actually more flattering that I thought. In the whole spectrum of possibilities. I don’t sound like a barnyard animal, so I’ll take it.”

Stiles’ hand finds its way to Derek’s inner thigh, sliding up higher and higher. “Fuck, look at you. That. Ass. For days. Shit, I’m jealous of myself that I get to be fucked by the owner of that ass.”

They keep watching, Stiles’ errant massage making Derek half-hard, until Stiles comes first in the video and shortly after, Derek does, too. Stiles is spent, breathing hard with his chin arced up to the ceiling. Derek makes quick work of licking Stiles clean of the mess he shot onto his own stomach before collapsing next to Stiles. Derek’s body is mostly shielding him from view, but they can still hear Stiles’ blissful giggle, loud and clear.

The recording is still going, mostly because Stiles couldn’t bring himself to physically get up to turn the camera off. Derek is glad that the extra moments were captured, though. It doesn’t really matter what they were saying afterwards - whether it was sweet and romantic, or x-rated, or completely neutral, like a boring discussion about the termite inspection. Derek is sure he’ll watch this again, at the very least when he’s horny and Stiles is away for work. He’ll probably dive more into the carnal aspects under those circumstances, but even then, he’ll still like the aftercare just as much.

“Thanks for humoring me,” Stiles says, nipping at Derek’s neck. “I know it all started as a running gag, but you don’t have to do everything I want to do. Thank you for trying this out.”

“It was fun. And sleeping with you was getting kind of boring anyway.”

Stiles slaps Derek’s chest in mock outrage. “If that’s what you call coming three times in a row, sure. Are you okay if we keep this? I can erase it if you want me to, but no one’s going to find it. I encrypted the file, too.”

The only copy of the video resides on Stiles’ air-gapped computer. As a private investigator, he conveniently already has one for files that need to be stored away from a connected network and prying hands. It’s no big deal to add their sexcapades, and frankly, they wouldn’t be the most titillating things on the hard drive to begin with.

“Yeah,” Derek nods. “Who’s going to go looking for it anyway? You’re not running for political office, are you?”

Stiles laughs. “Oh, I’d have to steal that election to win. But seriously. Even if someone tried to get rid of some incriminating evidence so I don’t bust them, the video is safe. Only the NSA might get past the encryption.”

“So you mean … there could be more where that came from …”

“Yes!” Stiles answers, his face lighting up with batted eyelashes.

“Okay,” Derek says. “I’d like that. You’re so beautiful, I like to look at you in all the ways.”

Stiles blushes a rosy pink and for the millionth time, Derek wonders why Stiles doesn’t seem to see what he sees, but even a camera doesn’t make things so black-and-white.

“I really, really wanted to be face-to-face this time,” Stiles says. “But next time, you can do whatever you want. Use me however you want.”

As effortlessly hard Stiles is flirting, he’s also giddy and happy, giggling again. Derek growls and pulls Stiles onto his lap. “The video is nice, but I’ll take the real thing whenever I can get it.”

They kiss for a while, Derek’s hands roaming all over Stiles’ relaxed body. “Me, too,” Stiles breathes, finally coming up for air and pressing his forehead against Derek’s.

They sit there peacefully and silently, just enjoying the affectionate intimacy. “Do you think it’d be weird if we set up another camera at a different angle?” Stiles asks. “It would be weird, right? Too try-hard. Yeah. Way less organic. I’m getting carried away.”

“It’s up to you, babe. You’re the director.”

Stiles continues to mumble to himself as Derek closes his eyes, listening to the mild, steady rhythm. “Uh-oh, I think I really am boring you,” Stiles cracks.

“No, just thinking.” Derek’s eyes blink open. “Back before all of this, when you were flirting with me about the sex tapes. Why did you throw all of the - well, I guess I’ll call them complimentary - titles to me and use the self-deprecating ones on yourself?”

Stiles pulls back and tilts his head. “I wanted to joke around with you, but I didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you. You were part of the joke, not actually the joke. But making fun of myself is okay. And I figured setting expectations low would mean if we ever hooked up, your reaction would be pleasant surprise.”

“I was more than pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, I know. Your o-face that night told me everything.”

Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ torso and in one fluid motion, Stiles finds himself lying back on the couch with Derek pressed against him. “You’re the best risk I ever took,” Derek says. “We turned out to be such a weird, perfect fit.”

Stiles waggles his eyebrows and Derek shakes his head with a smirk. “I know. That’s the -”

“It’s the title of our marriage,” Stiles finishes, clasping Derek’s hand and clinking their platinum bands together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for reading! If you have any feedback, please drop it down below! I’d love to hear from you!
> 
> A couple of things I feel like I should say “to be responsible,” but I think are generally well-understood anyway - 
> 
> 1\. “Title of your sex tape” jokes are pretty much always used in media in an innocuous, benign way, and we usually know they’re being made by someone we consider to be a good person and as a means of flirting with someone else we know/believe has conscious or subconscious feelings in return. And that’s why it comes off as okay - hopefully it does here, and this is also the case on Brooklyn Nine-Nine. In other settings, it might not be okay, like in a real workplace or social environment where the person on the receiving end (or even just someone else present) doesn’t like the jokes and feels harassed, but might not feel like they can say anything about it or there could be negative consequences if they did. Since I took (far graver) abuse very seriously in another story I wrote and posted, I do feel compelled to be super explicit about that here. The intent in “That’s Not How Holes Work” isn’t to trivialize what some people may find sexually inappropriate or unwelcome in their experience or as a concept.
> 
> 2\. Realistically, making a sex tape is something that can come back to haunt and it carries a lot of potential risk, either at the hands of a direct participant (for post-breakup revenge, etc.) or someone who comes into possession of the sex tape.
> 
> And one last thing that has nothing to do with “responsibility” - of course, Derek wore his dad’s monogrammed cufflinks when he married Stiles. Of course he did!!!
> 
> Thanks again and I hope to see you at my next story!


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